People often ask me where, of the places I've seen, would I most
want to return? I usually decline to answer because I don't know
for certain. But there are places that stay in my memory no matter
how many years pass.
Cap Ferrat on the French Riviera is one such place. There was a
day long ago, on the patio at the Grand Hotel du Cap Ferrat, when
things seemed perfect. The view of the Mediterranean was
breathtaking, and the weather was fine. We were drinking excellent
wine and having a lovely time.
We had driven quite a while from Paris, stopped in the
wine-producing area of Macon for a night and arrived in need of
rest.
Halfway between Nice and Monaco, we found it in this place. My
friend, George Robert Gafner of the French hotel federation, had
recommended it and joined us there for a few days.
In the evenings we did some sightseeing. The first night we
drove into Nice to see a show with the inevitable can-can dancers.
The next night we drove in the opposite direction to try our luck
in vain in the Monte Carlo casino.
But what I remember most is that patio of the Grand Hotel and
the way the Mediterranean gleamed.
It isn't often that what we see in our travels surpasses what we
imagined or what appeared in the brochures. But we're not likely to
forget the few times it happens.
I remember thinking that no one could be luckier than I was, to
work in this field and be able to have a legitimate reason to go
anywhere and see anything. It probably sounds as if I've just gone
to work for the French tourist office, but it's not the case. I'm
not for hire by travel promoters, and I don't write advertising
copy, at least not on purpose.
It may just be that it's the summer and I'm having a summer
dream of that time long ago and the place by the sea that was more
beautiful than I had imagined.
Before I wrote this, I wanted to be sure the hotel was still
there, so I went on the Web and looked it up. Happily, it's there
and looks just as I remember it.
I browsed on some other Cap Ferrat sites and found one at www.massena-city.com. There's a narrative about the
place with some history of the hermit Saint Hospice who lived
there, and the Lombards and Saracens who conquered it.
Near the end of the text are words often read in travel
literature. We think of them as "purple prose," and usually that's
what they are, wildly exaggerated descriptions. But not this
time.
They say of Cap Ferrat, "those who pass through without taking
the time to be totally enraptured leave with regret and live with
the hope to return one day to this magnificent corner of
paradise."